The moment is right.
"Fir'umil has laid himself bare what more could you ask of him here in this place."
"I could ask him many things sister, but you are right, if he desires to be our friend as well as our cousin then I will have time later to ask these questions. . ."
There is no doubt that Fir'umil has his continuing faults, but perhaps we have been quick to find him as he was, not as he is or wishes to be. . ."
"At the inn you told us that Tabir told you that our uncle had passed. Is he still able to converse, but his magic has been cut from him? Is it our goal to enable his powers and vouch for his sanity if we restore him?"
"Who knows what the truth is? Why don’t I return to the Scroll at once and rid you of my insufferable brinksmanship, Fir'umil? Would that be better?"
"Brother, at least let our cousin answer. You have made your thoughts clear that it was not your first wish to come to Absolom, but you are here now so can you try to look past that and focus on where we currently find ourselves?"
"Oh don't worry I am waiting to hear his answers and I am sure you are just as interested."
Fir’umil once again resisted the urge to lash out at his cousin. Without the comforting thrum of magic in his blood, the elven wizard’s thoughts were a bit clearer on how he seemed incessantly barbed by Karthan’s every word. Instead, he responded to Zandra’s question and in the process dodged Karthan’s baiting. Besides, Fir’umil was finally understanding more clearly from where the anger originated.
”It was Master Beleg who revealed that information to me, not the Grey. By that time, he was already incarcerated here.” Behind him, there was a small receiving area where stood a round, wooden table with a four chairs. It felt as though his very bones were turning to glass under his skin. Fir’umil stepped to one of the chairs and eased himself into it, trying to mask the shriek of pain erupting from his core.
”About twenty five years ago, there was an immense accident in Tabir the Grey’s laboratory. In that accident, his lab assistant was incinerated along with twelve other students of Alchemy who were there on an observation assignment.” Fir paused long enough to take a sip of his tincture...not so much for his throat, but more for the moment to gather his breath. ”He survived unscathed, but shortly after the accident, his mind began to fracture. There was another incident where he animated several shelves in the library by simply uttering the words to the spell with no thought to invocation. Not long after, the spell lord and regents of the school had him sent here.”
”Earlier, I told you Tabir was the one who’d informed me of my father’s death. At that time, and I believed I mentioned this point, I had not received the necessary permission to reveal Tabir’s true condition. Outside of us here, only Master Beleg, Liberios, Olivia and those who placed him here, everyone thinks Tabir is still an instructor here at the school.”
”How is that if he’s locked away?”
”There is a simulacrum safely ensconced in his laboratory, conducting experiments and tutoring students. The common knowledge is that he recovered from his malady and has since returned to a somewhat diminished capacity.” Fir’umil lay a hand upon the table, the one holding the mint-scented handkerchief. On it was a few dabs of fresh blood. When he noticed it, he maneuvered his fingers to tuck the material into the palm of his hand.
He cleared his throat and continued. ”Before his incarceration, something else happened to him. Something Master Beleg could not understand and had not the time to investigate before Tabir was locked away. It seemed after the incident in the library that Tabir’s personality had changed. He no longer was consistently...how did he put it...sharp or methodical. The Grey’s magical ability appeared diminished as well. In fact, he was unable to resist those who imprisoned him here and in fact agreed with the assessment. But his mind was scattered...” Fir shook his head.
”Master Beleg believes that by freeing Tabir, there is a chance that his mind will begin to repair, perhaps even his magical ability. But the need now, when facing what is happening, is great enough that we must take the risk.” One more pause where he looked both of them in the eye. He cleared his voice...the air in the asylum was so incredibly stifling! ”I ask a lot for you both to put yourselves at risk. But perhaps it is I you should be viewing as a tool...an instrument to be used in whatever capacity to see that whatever or whomever is behind the Pattern does not see their plan come to fruition.”
Down the hall, the siblings (and Thor for that matter) can hear approaching footsteps.
Even now, when you are at the threshold of whatever it is you desire so strongly you can't form the words, even if it were to be a lie. Your silence is telling cousin. . . But has my own resentment rendered me partially deaf to his words and meaning as well? I guess I will find my answer if I help you won't I.
"Footseps, I am guessing it will be Beleg coming as the closer right?"
What is wrong with you cousin? You do not look well. Or is this simply some other ploy that you are using to your own ends?
Fir nodded, "But you and i, Karthan, we have words to exchange and bad blood to rectify...*cough* Let us do so in better evirons..." He sketched the formal symbol of elvish oath in the air between them. "Family shall once again be our foundation...then deed...then trust. This is my oath to both of you...but especially you Karthan."
"Search your feelings Karthan, can't you see that he is being ingenuous? Also, can't you see that he is dying? Being here is literally killing him. This is no act."
Then maybe we are here because he has found a way to heal himself by accessing this man . . . Perhaps . . . No, I will give him the benefit of the doubt once again. Besides, I know higher ups in the church have vetted him, right? . . . That he is dying is no act. Would you have that on your hands? What would you tell Hal? No that is not who you are, that is not who you were raised to be. You have centuries to set this right, minutes to ruin it . . ."
"Hal'dorel once told me; one cannot destroy kindred: our chains stretch a little sometimes, but they never break. Relationships must be cultivated like a garden. Time, effort, and imagination must be summoned constantly to keep any relationship flourishing and growing lest we find ourselves in the weeds. . ."
"I don't have the way with words that he does. Coming here was not my wish, but I can see that you need me here and you are my blood. Despite the past 50 years I can still remember a different time and a different person. One that we were connected to and he to us. I can over look the weeds if you promise to help us make this garden grow beautiful and bountiful again."
Karthan steps off the lift and walks over to his cousin. He blinks his eyes a few times and pauses shaking his head.
"That uh, that felt, . . .like something was torn out of me when I stepped past the plane of the lift."
Recovering quickly from whatever it was, Karthan strides over to Fir'umil and hauls him to his feet so that he can look him in the eyes.
"I want our life back as much as you do. That childhood is dead. Let us make something of this life we have left and fill it with the vitality, warmth and wholeness that we covet."
Karthan hugs Fir'umil to him gently and claps him on the shoulder gently.
"I will do as you need cousin. In return I will hold you to your word." Karthan then steps back.
"Seriously though, how much time do we have? You do not look like you will last long in this state. Call Beleg from the shadows and lets be about this."
"I will last long enough, cousin. And thank you." He looked over his shoulder and shook his head. "Master Beleg did not indicate he would be here"
The group peers around the corner from where they are in the small room with the table. Approaching them from the dark recesses of the hallway was a gnome. With the flickering torchlight, his small stature was only silhouette. ”I hear voices, eh?” As he moved down the hallway, the moans and whispers of madness dimmed to silence.
More a walking stick than anything at the moment, Fir’umil heaved himself up from the table and called out. ”I am Arcanscenti Fir’umil Osseus. These are my cousins, Karthan and Zandra Dawnsetter of Kyonin.”
The silhouette resolved into the picture of a gnome more ancient than any of them had seen before. ”I am Gentry.” His voice cracked and seemed full of dust and chalk. His bulbous nose held aloft a pair of glasses just barely, but the gnome’s left hand pushed them up the bridge as he looked up at the newcomers. In his other hand, he held a square brass, riveted case by a wood handle. ”I’m searching my thoughts to find one indicating I care who any of you are...” Gentry paused long enough to shake his head after a deep cogitation, his bald pate ringed by a cloud of white, kinky hair. ”Nope, can’t say as I’ve found one.”
He held up a tiny hand as Fir’umil attempted to speak up. ”Tuht tuht tuht, hold your tongue, elfy...” With a deft flick of the wrist, the gnome flipped the brass case forward, the motion sparking off a series of whirring and clicking mechanical noises. Spindly legs extended from one side of the case, propping it up as it unfolded and expanded. In a matter of a few clanking moments the contraption took the shape of a podium and a thin set of steps for the gnome to climb. Gentry made his way up until he was eye level with Fi’rumil and Karthan. From the top of the podium he produced an 8’ x 5’ brass plate and held it out. ”Place your hand here...don’t push and shove, each of you will get a turn.”
As the wizard held out his hand to the plate, the gnome leaned aside and his eyes popped wide. ”Keep that animal on the lift!! Absolutely no pets on this level!!” He shrieked. Then just as suddenly as he spoke he stood straight and returned his attention to Fir’umil. Once Fir had placed his hand on the plate, in the distance of the long hallway there reverberated the sound of a locking mechanism opening.
”Step back, Arcanscenti! I haven’t all day!” He shewed Fir away and pointed at Zandra to step forward. ”Come, come! You there, next!”
Zandra stepped forward and gently placed her hand on the plate as Fir'umil had.
Each of the siblings placed their hands on the brass plate, each detecting an unnatural humming vibration beneath their hands as though the metal were alive...each was greeted with the locking mechanism opening another twist from down the hall.
After Karthan steps away, Gentry hops down from the podium and slips a thumbnail into one of the spindly legs. As quickly as it assembled itself, the podium folded and whirred and clicked until it rested on the cold stone floor, reverted to its case form.
”Move along, last door on the left.” Gentry gathered up his case and headed into the room opposite to the one from with the table. ”Now I’m late for lunch!” He trundled away, the sound of pots and knives and curses coming from the room in which he entered.
______________________________________________________
The trio moved down the hallway, the sounds of moans and whimpers returned as Gentry was out of the hall. Each door inset into the hallway wall was made of what looked like a mixture of steel and banded iron, three defined seams spaced equally running vertical on each one. Above each door was a strange tube made of brass and copper that flanged open like a budding flower.
They kept going, Fir’umil in the lead. ”We should approach him slowly, perhaps speak in slow and deliberate tones so as not to upset his nerves.” The elven wizard looked back to his cousins and another first occurred; he looked completely uncertain.
At the end of the hall was a large brasure giving off a warm light and the smells of incense, to the left, a closed door bearing the same equidistant vertical seams. Suddenly, the brass budding flower above the door burst with noise, the sound of a different voice, thin and reedy came from it, the tone sounding like it was vibrating and distorted.
The voice paused, then in a much quieter tone. ”...you have guests.”
The brass blossom ceased it squawking, then the door came to life, steam hissing outwards and the sound of gears cranking. The two sides of the door that was divided in three by the seams slid downwards while the center section slid upwards to reveal a room beyond.
Stone of smooth cut, an area rug appearing to be made from tightly woven material, a comfortable bed to one side with a writing desk on the opposite wall from the door. A small room led off from the interior, most likely a privy. But sitting at the desk, back turned to the three elves hunched a human of frail frame. His hair a mixture of bedraggled greys and whites, a stomach-long beard apparent even from behind when seeing its bushy edges on either side of the old man’s thin shoulders.
A tired, baritone came from the thin-framed man. ”I knew someone would come...eventually.”
”We’ve come for your help, Master Altabiric.” Fir’umil croaked, his voice nearly betraying him into another coughing fit. His own body trembled with the effort to stand upright.
”I know that voice...” The old man turned in his chair, the wooden seat mounted on an apparatus that allowed for smooth, oiled rotation. Tabir’s face was ashen, but there was a zeal in his sky blue eyes...an intelligence of staggering beauty and potential. Amazingly enough, as soon as they lit upon Fir’umil’s face, the old man’s form lept from his chair and he was across the room in three strides, thin, gnarled hands going to Fir’umil’s face. ”Ahh, pupils are good, they have good dilation...face is thin...you should eat more my boy...” A smile creeped across the old man’s face, a joy in it that seemed alien on such a canvas.
Then the smile faded, he gripped Fir’umil by the shoulders and held him out at arm’s length, a surprising strength in a man of such advanced age. ”I thought you’d be fatter...”
”Ffff...fatter?” The elven wizard asked incredulous.
”Your father ate more, he wasn’t fat but he had more meat on his bones than you...but there is something more under the skin, yes?” The old man leaned in close and sniffed at Fir'umil's shoulder then brought his hands up to sniff at them as well...a bony thumb felt along Fir'umil's hand... "You're sick..." There was a mournful concern in his voice, his striking blue eyes looking back to Fir.
But his face changed as a thought flashed across Tabir’s face...a snapping synapse of realization. ”They don’t allow me visitations...only in the case if three are present...” His gnarled right hand counted off... ”One...two...three...no more, no less. Then it becomes a simple ‘if,then’ statement. If you are here, then so too must they be here...” He cast a glance over Fir’umil’s shoulder. ”I hold the son of Tilmenos Osseus in my hand, but where are the children of Tear’amil Dawnsetter?”
Then his eyes settled on Zandra and Kathan. Already having begun to moisten at the sight of Fir’umil, the old man allowed the tears to flow when he saw the two siblings. But his smile faded to a wrinkled face of consternation as he regripped Fir’umil by the shoulders and drew him close enough that the old man could whisper over his shoulder for their ears alone. ”Today is Monday...they have such terrible rabbit stew here...akin to cannibalism I tell you...it’s dreadful!”
”Master Tabir, we are here to free you of this place.” Fir managed to say.
Tabir stepped back from Fir’umil and took on a more dignified stance. ”Excellent, thank you!”
Then he looked to the siblings once more. ”Come come, tell me what you’re all about!” He stepped back into the room and allowed for them to enter, gesturing to the comfortable looking bed along the wall while he made his way back to the desk chair. ”Why do you come seeking my assistance?”
"Zandra Dawnsetter, Master Tabir." Zandra curtseyed to the archmage.
"We have come with our cousin Fir'umil who came from the lands of our birth to be your apprentice, but was accepted by Beleg in your stead. Evil and chaos have begun to spread in your city. Since my brother and I have only recently arrived I believe Fir'umil can better impart what you wish to know."
"Karthan Dawnsetter Magus." Karthan pressed the fingers of his hand into the hand sign for respect given to an elder and bows his head.
"As my sister has said, we have come to free you as Fir'umil has instructed. I do not have the affinity for magic that my sister and ousting share, instead I come hoping to learn something of my parents and perhaps myself."
Sick? I had thought that his condition was from the treatment he Ha received from the cultists. I will have to look into this further. Why could he not be healed? Surely the clerics would know of his condition."
The old man crooked an eyebrow at Karthan. "You have your father's eyes..." He stood from his desk chair and crossed the room to put his face nose to nose with Karthan. When he spoke, the Grey's breathe smelled of cinnamon strudel. "This place has not changed...so you felt it leave you when you exited the lift, yes?"
He stayed close, nose to nose, waiting for an answer, sharp blue eyes darting back and forth to focus on each of Karthan's eyes in turn.
How did the old Mage know that it would be the children of Dawnsetter and not Hal? Wait . . . He just said they don't allow him visitation unless three were present. Not specifically that it must be the three of us.
"Thank you Master Tabir, I have been told that it is not the only trait I have inherited from him, I pray that is true. I did infact feel like something was torn from me when I stepped off the lift. It wasn't extraordinarily uncomfortable, but noticeable.
"Have you had many visitors since you took residence here?"
Zandra contemplates what she'd seen upon Fir'umil...the wasting...his mention of the skinsaw cult...now Tabir's observation...could it be some form of poison? But the question of why the clerics were unable to heal him remained. Why were the warding runes that were tattooed along his torso necessary?
Karthan considers the "three" comment. It seems more likely that Tabir was referring to the three elves specifically when mentioning visitations. The implication that no one except him, Zandra & Fir'umil were expected. This begs the question, why wouldn't Hal'odrel be on that list? Had Beleg mislead Fir'umil in his instructions? Fir'umil seemed to believe that any combination of the four related elves should have worked.
Satisfied with Karthan's answer, Tabir took a step back and studied the ranger further. "Good. I was concerned...don't worry, boy, you will grow in might!" He emphasized the last word with a fist striking upwards.
Then his eyes lost focus, he appeared lost for a moment as he stared upwards at his fist. He brought it down and looked at his hand, eyes darting among the cracks and crevices of his aged skin. "My word, why haven't I been provided with proper lotion? My hands are atrocious!"
He stepped back and withdrew his hands into the sleeves of his grey, rough-spun robes out of embarrassment. Then his eyes lit up on Zandra and he held his breath for a moment. "No...no visitors...for it was only you three who were allowed..." He whispered in answer to Karthan's question.
Self-conscious sweeps of his hands through his hair and beard as Tabir sought to make himself more presentable. He moved towards Zandra and took a knee before her, gnarled hands gently taking one of the elf maiden's up so he could place a soft kiss upon them. His whiskers tickled at Zandra's hand.
When Tabir looked up into Zandra's eyes, there was a deep joy within them. "Oh Sohlara...it's been so long since I've seen you...I must look a sight, but you look as beautiful as the last day I saw you...you've not aged a day..." he paused and a rascally grin turned up the corners of his mouth. Tabir looked back and forth, eyes not even seeing Fir or Karthan, then he looked back into Zandra's eyes with a twinkling in his own. "Dare I say you look more lovely than ever!"
Zandra smiled and helped the man to his feet. "You pay me a big complement Master Tabir for my mother was as beautiful as you remember her, but I am Zandra her daughter. I have been told however that I have grown into a woman in her image."
"Here, I have something with me for that, it may smell slightly of cilantro, lime and hibiscus, but you needn't worry about what others might think as your hands will be as soft as lambskin glove leather." she said producing lotion from her hand bag and sets about helping Tabir moisturize his hands with it.
Tabir looked down at his hands within Zandra's and smiled. "How delightful!" He looked deeper into her eyes and winked. "Of course, you're Zandra, but of course." His eyes drifted to the sword at her hip and a flash of memory came and went behind the archmage's eyes.
Her task completed, the ancient wizard raised his hands and sniffed them deeply, a long inhale of air hissing. "Ahh, it reminds of me of Varisian salsa!!" His hands dropped to forward and he spoke in a rush. "Have I cooked my lemon and cilantro glazed cod for you? This salsa would pair with it nicely!" He went back to sniffing at his hands.
Fir’umil hazarded over to Tabir’s desk and brought over the desk chair which was mounted on useful wheels for maneuvering along the smooth stones around the area rug. ”Master, here, please be seated. My cousins and I are here seeking your aid.”
The old man was still sniffing at his hands, eyes closed in a memory of culinary adventure, but he took a seat as soon as he felt the chair behind him. ”Well of course you are, my boy.” Tabir responded through his hands.
Fir cleared his throat and continued, returning to the bed to sit next to Zandra. ”Master, there has been an attack upon three clerics of Ragathiel...”
”Ragathiel you say?” His voice took on a professorial tone for a brief moment. His hands dropped to his lap and his eyes opened, crisp blue intelligence bearing upon Fir’umil. ”Never heard of him. Is it catching?”
”No, Master, Ragathiel is an Empyreal Lord who has garnered a strong following out of Magnimar...”
Tabir interrupted again. ”Feeling a bit jumped up, this Ragathiel, for being the bastard son of a demon!”
”It is more related to these clerics...there was a weapon imbued by nefarious individuals with an enchantment that trapped their souls...”
Tabir clapped his hands together with such suddenness, the sound so loud, that all three elves jumped. ”I must see the bodies! I will need my lab...” He began stroking his beard with a practiced motion. ”Get those shrieking harpies they call students out of my lab and summon Ella...we will need to inspect the bodies at once!”
The old man stood so rapidly that the his roller chair shot backwards and hit the opposite wall. ”Well, what are we waiting for?”
Fir’umil winced inwardly. ”Master Tabir, Ella is gone...I don’t know how to say it...”
Tair’s mood shifted...darkened to a point of melancholy. ”Of course she is, my boy. Ella is dead, dead, dead...” he whispered.
He turned away from the three elves and clasped his gnarled hands behind his back. ”If you’ll excuse me for a moment...”
With that, Tabir walked across the room, slippered feet whooshing over the area rug and carrying him into the small adjacent room. A wooden door slammed shut behind him. A few moments later, the hissing sound of steam and squeaking sound of a turning gear...then running water. Not long after, they could hear singing mixed with sobbing coming from the behind the door, carried into the quarters on growing clouds of steam.
The song’s words were unintelligible, a language none of the elves had heard before. But nonetheless they could feel a sadness gripping at their hearts as the words were sung.
"Was Ellia the apprentice who died in the fire?"
Fir'umil nodded his head affirmative. "I'm not quite sure what to make of him."
"He seems like a dear old soul, but I can't help but wonder if his addled mind is simply a result of the natural aging process."
"I am not keen on taking him from this place without Beleg or someone similar in power to help us. If this human is as truly ancient as you claim his magic power must be that of he most accomplished of spell weavers."
"Had you been given any further instructions as to he process we were to follow here?"
Fir'umil shook his head. "Age maybe...I can't be certain but that is not the impression Master Beleg gave me. He noted a change in his personality...but perhaps the years held here have done something... Master Beleg told me that he was not a danger. That Master Tabir could be trusted implicitly."
The sound a creaking gear came from the small room into which Tabir had disappeared. Then the sound of flowing water ceased. But his singing, although now taking on a more uptempo beat, continued.
"I was told that he would not be needed, that it would only require us. We were the key in releasing Master Tabir from this place." Fir rubbed at his temples and drew his fingers and thumb back noting that he was beginning to perspire. The elven wizard squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to bring his body under control. "I..." By the wings of Larilee, his insides were on fire! "I was also told to follow Gentry's protocols. There will be further information, I would assume, given on our exit."
Fir'umil was in considerable pain, and with that fact, his patience began to ebb. He bit his tongue before he could say something cross, instead speaking kinder words. "I trust Master Beleg implicitly, as...I...said. Let us bring Master Tabir to the Hall of Geros, have him meet the Inquisitor. In the meantime, I will send a summons to Master Beleg once we've exited this...infernal place!"
It took all his will not to double over in pain. He could feel something coursing through his veins...something eating at his center. "Besides, Karthan, there are enough wizards and sorcerers in this place to put a hole in the world..." The last came out a bit harsher than he intended. His hand came up immediately after saying it to forestall any anger. "My apologies, but I'm feeling a bit of discomfort at the moment. I should like to depart as soon as possible."
From the other side of the wood door, it sounded like Tabir was reaching the conclusion of his song. The music was becoming grander and more jubilant with every note.
Zandra took some smelling salts from her bag and some anti venom.
"Here take these salts and fight through it as you have remarkably so far. If I am correct that it is a type poison that eats away at you, this could stall it or at least slow the progression."
" . . . Blast . . . Alright. Look let's do this. Fir'umil head for the lift and get back into the positive magic zone area, or whatever you may call it. Zandra and I will bring Tabir to the lift. It will allow you to regain your composure and down here Tabir doesn't carry the threat of his magic. If you run into Gentry find out if he can just relay instructions to us as we walk out."
Fir'umil nodded gratefully for the anti-venom, taking the drought along with a swig of water from a flask on his belt he usually saved for making tea. Then a dose of the smelling salts. The sudden surge of vitality helped...
...but he felt the leeching of his life continue after a moment. But it was enough for him to stand, leaning heavily on his staff. "I will take you up on that..."
The door to the small room opened, steam pouring out and infusing the quarters in a jungle-like humidity. From the inside of the tiny room Tabir emerged, hair combed back and swept into a loose pony-tail, white-gray beard trimmed to just below his breastbone.
Everything seemed cleaned and refreshed on the old man. Something his three guests noted because he exited the tiny room completely naked.
Fir'umil, about ready to make his exit turned and his jaw dropped. "Master Tabir...I...your clothing, sir!" Instinctively, the elven wizard placed himself in front of Zandra.
Tabir only stood upon the area rug, feet shoulder length apart so he could stretch his back and arms. "Don't be such a prude, boy. It's a penis, and I'm certain you've all seen one or two of them in the decades you've been above ground." He stretched further, leaning over to touch the ground, displaying a surprising level of dexterity - among other things - in the process.
With that, the ancient wizard hummed a brisk tune to himself as he walked to the wall opposite the room from the elves and opened the bureau. Inside were assorted robes and undergarments.
"Mm...Master Tabir, I must make my exit from this area for a few a few moments to regain my constitution. My cousins here will escort you out of this place." Fir'umil's eyes had long since gone to the ground, wide and wondering at what they'd gotten themselves into...
Tabir waved a hand over his shoulder as his other sifted through his robes. "Very good, very good. I'll have the Salisbury Steak with the Apple Wine Demiglaze. You have my ticket, the station is a good two hours off so plenty of time for dinner. That will be all, porter!"
Fir stared for a moment, then looked to his cousin and promptly departed.
Zandra grinned a little at her cousins chivalrous move to shield her from Tabir's unabashed stark nakedness, but suppressed it at her brothers look of horror as he turned to see her reaction. Zandra managed to turn and looked away politely.
While Karthan thought hard about the proper course of action Zandra slipped into a plan of her own.
"Oh is that one red crushed Krusemian velvet!? I think that one would fit today's mood just perfectly Master Tabier!" Zandra gushed convincingly and she selected the garment from the wardrobe and held it up encouraging the ancient, but spry and joyfully cantankerous Mage to dress himself in it.
"It sounds as though you have quite the developed palate, but after who knows how long, you wouldn't want to waste your efforts on a Salisbury steak would you? I would think a man like you might have developed much more exotic tastes or perhaps complex would be a better term."
"Very exotic tastes, if you know what I mean..." the old man eyed Zandra for a moment and wagged his bushy eyebrows. "If I were but a hundred years younger..." Tabir cleared his throat and went back to inspecting the red robes Zandra had selected. "Excellent choice, my dear."
He began pulling the robes over his head, opting to forgo under garments. "Don't worry, Cart & Tan, you're sister is way out of my league and much too young!" he called out as he wormed his way into his robes, bright white derriere catching the torch light in the room.
Once his clothes we on, Tabir glanced about the room and nodded once. "To hell with this place and the horse it road in on! I'll miss the shower, but spit upon the rest!"
He summarily marched out of the room. "...and the horse it road in on...heh heh, oh thank the light for Widdy's sayings...hee hee..."
The siblings filed out after the ancient wizard, catching up to him as he hung a right at the corner where he strode for the exit. Down the hallway, the lift doors stood open, Fir'umil and Thor awaiting them. The elven wizard looked more himself, his vitality restored. Under his arm was a small, rectangular box.
As they neared the ends of the hall, Gentry the gnome stepped into view. "Going somewhere, old man?"
Tabir stepped right up to the gnome. "Most assuredly, you stunted turd. Just as soon as I plant my foot in that ridiculous meat salad you call a face!!"
The gnome casually stepped aside to avoid the wizard's sweeping leg. "A pox upon your lecherous hands, you boggle-brained nincompoop!!"
The two faced each other for a good second, then Gentry stepped aside, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Be careful you don't show your face around here again, you over-tanned, leathery sack of brittle bones!! I see you again and I'll break your hip!"
Tabir continued on to the end of the hall, only turning around once he was in the lift. The old wizard nodded to the gnome, a respectful gesture to a worthy adversary. Gentry nodded in return.
Then a gnarled hand came up and waved for the siblings to join him. "Come along, Cart-hand...you too Sand-Claw. We must away to visit with Fearlodge's Inquisition member."
Without missing a beat, Tabir looked over to the tiger in the lift and smiled broadly. The big cat had his eyes narrowed, ears back and teeth bared at the presence of the old man, as though he faced an alpha male.
"Hilsener, mektig skapning. Hvordan ønsker du å bak en kjent ut? Jeg vanligvis ikke gå inn for den slags ting, men for en så nydelig som deg selv, ville jeg gjøre et unntak! Eller kanskje har muligheten til å fly? Du vil være mer majestetisk enn en Griffin!"
On Tabir's other side, Fir'umil's eyes were the picture of astonishment...as though he were looking at the risen form of Aroden himself.
As Zandra went with the old little man to the lift, Karthan turned to the equally unique gnome who appeared to be the warden of the place.
"You did not appear to be surprised that we came today, does Tabir get visitors often?"
"Had anyone left instructions about his care or and information about his care after release?"
"Any advice you can give me about how to deal with him would be most helpful."
Despite herself, Zanda had to giggle at the old man, he was quite the fellow. At leat it will never be boring with him along.
Gentry pushed his glasses up his nose once more and sniffed. ”My, my, my. You’re just a little question machine, aren’t you?” The gnome sighed and went through them all. ”Fine, fine, fine...”
One finger came up... ”First, of course I wasn’t surprised to see you, I run an asylum. If anything surprised me I’d be a pisspoor administrator...”
Second finger came up... ”Second, had a visitor or two during his first weeks in this place. Then nothing. If you think I’m divulging who or what they were, you’ve got another thing coming. I’d like to keep this thankless job thank you very much!”
Third finger... ”Of course I have instructions for his care; feed him, keep him clean and make sure he doesn’t croak. If he says something that makes sense, mark it down...” he paused and drew out a scroll from a pouch at his side. He pinched one end and let it unfurl before the elven ranger’s eyes. ”As you can see, nothing of note or warrant spilled out of his thin, canker sore ridden lips.”
At the top of the scroll, written in a precise hand in common appeared: Below that, nothing was written on the entirety of the scroll. The gnome let it fall to the cold, stone floor, the paper floating down. Shortly after, a brass mechanoid in the shape and function of a beatle half a foot in length scurried forward and picked up the paper, taking it into the room from wince Gentry had emerged.
Fourth finger... ”How to care for him? He’s the one of the most powerful wizards in two elven generations, perhaps the question should be; how can he take care of you? My advice?” The gnome raised his voice enough so all those in the lift could hear. ”My advice, you find as much hard candy and chewy red liquorice you can find, he loves that stuff. Drop it in such a way as to create a path for him to follow. Then lead the path down to the docks...” He paused again and heaved his next words in a shout. ”...AND FIND THE SHORTEST PIER AVAILABLE SO HE CAN TAKE A LONG WALK OFF THE END OF IT!!”
Tabir, who had been busily fussing with this red robes and muttering small incantations like he was trying to recall the words to a long forgotten song, paused what he was doing and extended a middle finger to the gnome like a proud cavalier would display a banner.
The gnome vomited forth a flatly incomprehensible string of gnomish curses that culminated with the old Gentry dropping trou and mooning Tabir. Once done, he hopped about as he reclaimed his pants. ”Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve an asylum to run!”
"Thank you, of course, for your expertise."
Karthan turned and walked to the lift. Well he is out now, lets see if we can do anything with him. . . Hope Sacredos isn't disappointed, but at least he may be amused by the Grey, heh, if anything amuses that man besides lopping heads off demons.
Well, at least someone here can appreciate my magnificence. . . . Hummm . . . How would I look with wings? Thor the winged tiger or perhaps the flying tiger? No, no, to circus act sounding. Maybe, Winged Death. Too dramatic? No, no, too simplistic.
"All of those are fine ideas, my friend." Tabir said to the tiger. The wizard began looking through his robes as though seeking a coin or a piece of lint. "You take your time, Thorendel. Let me know your preference."
"Well I suppose we will be going directly to meet with Sacredos? Or did you have something else in mind first Fir'umil?"
Fir'umil regained his composure and responded. "Yes, directly to the Hall of Geros. I will need to make arrangements to reopen his lab...but there will be time for..."
Tabir suddenly stopped sifting thru his pockets held out a weathered hand. The archmage's eyes were locked upon the wooden box under Fir'umil's arm. "My wand, boy."
Fir'umil's instinct was to hide the box immediately. Gentry had indicated it that belonged to Tabir and contained his possessions. But he let himself trust Master Beleg, knowing that his mentor wouldn't lead him to harm. With a subtle wince of concern, he handed the box to Tabir.
The old man waggled his fingers like a child pining for a giant piece of chocolate. "Ahh, good, good..." The small box opened at Tabir's touch. Inside were two items; first was a finely crafted wand carved of what appeared to be Darkwood. Its base was thicker, runes carved in various languages along its length as it tapered to a point. The grip of the wand was sumptuous, bearing a hand hold for the owner's grip. The wondrous item turned in his fingers then disappeared up his sleeve.
The second item in the box was a folded velvet satchel. Tabir withdrew it with an appreciative smile. The wooden box was casually disgarded, tumbling from his fingers. When it hit the wood floor of the lift, it puffed into dust and disappeared.
"Ahh, my things. Everything I will need to supply my lab." He went about unfolding the satchel until a soft leather strap appeared. This went across the wizard's body, the full size of the satchel becoming more of a book bag.
As it hung there on Tabir's shoulder, it changed shape. One moment it may have held a collection of books. In another moment it might have been the odds and ends of an alchemist set with glass transfer tubing poking out of the opening. Fir'umil's eyes studied Tabir's face, noticing that for every change in expression, the bag's apparent contents altered.
He looked away and focused on the task at hand. He could marvel at the specific behaviors of Tabir's bag of holding another time. "Master, the man we go to see has in his possession the instrument that this cult used to trap the cleric's of his order. Our request of you would he to hopefully decrypt the magics and ritual used to retun the souls to their rightful place."
The doors to the lift closed, Fir'umil using the turtle shaped carving to get it moving. Tabir drew a hand down the length of his white-gray beard. "Hmmm....hmmm..." Suddenly, his gnarled finger stabbed across the width of the lift towards the elf maiden. "You there, Zabbadabba. What is your estimation of this inquisitor? What is the cut of his jib? Can he be trusted? Will he sing me a tune?"
There is no pretense to this half elf. His human blood runs stronger in him than his elven does. He is like a glacier, constantly moving forward with a singular purpose. He sees his life as a mission in the name of Rathgiel. He holds duty above all else, that may be his weakness, he is perhaps too stringent to face many of natures challenges."
"But, if you can judge a person by how he treats his animals, he has a horse that is quite fond of him. He could have discarded the horse for a newer stronger one when it was injured in his service. Instead, Sacredos nursed the horse back to health. It would appear life does mean something to him though his exterior is like a granite outcropping."
"He believes you have something to do with the creation of this Kukri he has with him. It contain the souls of three clerics that were slain by it."
"He is a formidable warrior with gifts from his patron, but not a cleric and most definately not a paladin. He is an Inquisitor bent on destruction of anything he deems evil and he has the sword to do it too. He calls it Knightseye I believe."
"Sacredos has helped win the day for us several times. Mal'undil and I may well owe our lives to him. . ."
"I would be interested in hearing your estimation of him Fir'umil."
"Dedication and duty were in short supply when I entered this cotton candy dispensary years ago, I'm sure it's worse. This Sucar y dos sounds like a man you need in your lives."
The old wizard crimped a bit of robe between thumb and forefinger, his thoughts drifting and the contents shaping the bag of holding shifted along with them. Then something occurred to him as he stabbed a finger into the air. "Why in the Pit of Caracara are we in such a rush if the clerics are already dead?" he held out his fingers and ticked them off. "A body minus a soul equals nothing!"
"If I may," the elven wizard cleared his throat. "From the way Sacerdos described the bodies prior to his departure from Magnimar, they may be in what is called a coma, not dead. A term I noticed in some of your old notes, master."
Tabir crossed his arms and frowned at Fir. "Reading my diary, eh?"
"I...uhm...*cough*..."
The old man swooped in close to Fir'umil and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Did you find anything in there about where my recipe for mango salsa is located?" There was a mischievous grin on his face. "All this talk of Magnimar has reminded me of a good recipe..."
Fir shook his head. "I'm sorry, master, but I have not seen such a recipe."
"A pity, child. A pity." he patted Fir'umil on the forearm and stepped back. Then he looked sharply at him. "The young lady asked you a question. Don't be rude."
"Um, well, I think the Inquisitor is a weapon. You know in which direction he will always point and that injects a bit of certainty and dependability we will no doubt need in the coming days. I'm glad to assist him if it means we can win him to our cause." Fir'umil rested a bit on his staff. "His will and duty and cause are too aligned with ours for his appearance in Absalom to be simple happenstance."